A Chance Meeting
by fandomnerd2015
Summary: Clarice is in an unhappy marriage, and leaves her husband, moving to Paris, France. It is there that she runs into Hannibal, once again, and this time, it's different. This time, there is no quid pro quo. It just Hannibal, Clarice, and her dark apartment. Until her husband sparks up a false accusation and the two are forced to flee together. First Hannibal fic! No flames! R&R!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Set after _Hannibal_. Movieverse, since I haven't read the book(s) yet, but I've ordered them so I should be reading them soon. This is also based off of the Jodie Foster version of Clarice, since I think she did a better job. I love Julianne Moore but Jodie did a lot better in my opinion. My first Hannibal story, so no flames! I do not own Clarice, Hannibal, or any of the other characters that I might add in here, I only own Alex and any other OCs and the story. Oh and I'm using a translator off of my phone, so please don't get mad if things aren't right! R&R!

Chapter One

Clarice Starling was always a hard woman to impress. Even to herself. She never found herself impressive or beautiful, even though she had sparkling blue eyes and chocolate brown hair and, when shown, a figure any woman would literally kill for. There were fleeting moments when she felt beautiful-her wedding day, for one. But that wedding was probably one of the worst decisions in her life. Her husband-a Mr. Alex Cabot, the district attorney-had always been a little...commanding.

He hadn't been around, lately. Not since the miscarriage. Clarice could never carry a baby for as long as she should-her body wouldn't allow her. Alex found this to be her fault. He never came around her anymore, and always sent her dirty looks. Clarice didn't care anymore. She was getting tired of his shit anyway.

She opened the door, slowly, to the nursery. She looked at the minty green paint that covered the wall and her eyes traveled to the white baseboard for half a second until they traveled up to the white wooden crib with small teddy bears painted on it. She walked over to it and traced her fingers over the frame and shook her head. She felt robbed. She felt as if she had given everything up to the wrong man. She couldn't work with the FBI anymore, thanks to the Paul Krendler thing with Hannibal and all. After he fed Paul a piece of his brain and saved a little more for himself (which Clarice herself found a little gross) and escaped and with her being arrested, she was fired for good. It wasn't suspension any longer.

That was seven years ago. Five out of those seven she had been in probably one of the worst marriages. She didn't even want to be with Alex. She married him because she felt like she had to. And the sex wasn't that good. At all. Alex was a little small and usually slipped out in the middle of it. She didn't even love him. Not like she should've, anyway. There was only one man she really loved-she just hadn't realized it until after their last encounter.

"_Tell me, Clarice,_" he had said "_Would you ever say to me, "Stop. If you loved me, you'd stop?"_"

"_Not in a thousand years_." She had hissed at him. Her ponytail was slammed into the refrigerator door, and she didn't have that much range for movement. He had stood in front of her, towering almost, because of her position.

"_That's my girl_." He kissed her not too long after that.

She regretted her actions from later that night. Hannibal Lecter was like a phantom in her memory now. His voice was faint, almost, but still haunted her from time to time. She could still hear the way he said her name, with that slight hiss at the end, and it turned her on a little. She wanted him. Sure, he was much older than she was but so what? And the FBI/criminal thing didn't matter anymore, since she had been completely discharged from it. Like she was shit under their shoes, that's how she felt. And that's how she felt with Alex too. She was done with everything.

Even before Alex had returned from work, Clarice had packed her bags. She had bought a plane ticket to Paris, ready to leave everything behind. She learned French back in high school and had been able to remember it pretty well. And what she couldn't remember she'd have to relearn. She didn't know what Paris would have in store for her but she knew it would be a lot better than America.

()()()()()()()()

As the plane landed, Clarice stared out of the window. She saw the city in the distance and her head began to finally clear. She stared at the ring on her finger-her wedding ring that had been replaced by her purity ring-and wondered what she was going to do with it. She wasn't going to sell it, that wasn't right. It wasn't right to Alex. She didn't exactly love the bastard-and God knew he didn't love her-but selling a ring he gave her wasn't right. She would send it back when she could.

Clarice stood and went to grab her things from the luggage cabinets above her. She brought very little of her things. Five pairs of clothes and three pairs of tennis shoes, socks, underwear, braziers, toothbrush and toothpaste, floss, hairbrush, make up...just the essentials every woman might need. She had called ahead of time, a few days ago, really, and reserved an apartment in Paris. Her landlady spoke a little bit of English and was able to understand a little bit of what Clarice said. As she got out of the taxi and walked into the apartment complex, she waited at the office desk. There was no one in sight and she sighed. Her eyes skimmed over the desk and she found a silver desk bell. A sign sat there next to it. It was in French, but Clarice knew exactly what it was for. She rang it a couple of times and an older woman-small, slightly overweight with snow white hair-walked out to the desk.

"Bonjour." She greeted. Clarice smiled kindly and nodded her head.

"Hello."

The older woman looked at her closely. "Parlez-vous français?"

Clarice thought for a second, trying to remember. "Un peu." She answered finally. She said a little bit, which was true. She thought for a second. "Parlez-vous... Dammit." She thought for a few minutes while the older woman cocked her head slightly to the side. "Dammit, what's English?" she thought to herself. Then she remembered. "Parlez-vous anglais?"

The woman shook her head. Then she held up a hand and walked into the other room, calling to another woman. Soon after, a slightly younger woman walked into the room.

"Hello." She smiled slightly and spoke with a strong French accent.

"Hi." Clarice smiled back, her West Virginia accent sneaking into her voice. "I'm Clarice Cabot, I'm supposed to be coming in today to sign the lease and check into my apartment."

"Right!" The woman began typing away on her computer while Clarice stood there, waiting patiently.

()()()()()()()()

"It's not exactly nice but it's a studio/ bathroom with a small kitchen and area to watch your movies, shows, and what not. It'll be around 216 euros a month." Clarice nodded as the woman explained everything.

"My check's in dollars, could you take that?" she furrowed her eyebrows.

"I'll just change it to euros, it's fine." The woman nodded. Clarice nodded and began to dig around in her purse. "The laundry room is downstairs to your right, not too far from the ice machines."

"Thank you." Clarice nodded and handed the woman the check. The woman smiled, took it, and left Clarice to get her things together.

Around eleven is when Clarice finally made her way into her new bed. She hugged her pillow and was thinking to herself. Tomorrow. Yes, that was when she would do it. She would call Alex tomorrow and apologize for her actions but that she just needed to get out of the country. Yes. She would do that tomorrow.

()()()()()()()()

It had been a shock. He hadn't expected to see her. Not ever again. But when Clarice Starling-former FBI agent and wife of the district attorney-walked off of that plane, he couldn't help but watch and slightly furrow his eyebrows in surprise and confusion. Clarice was never one to run away from her problems. It wasn't like her at all.

He had watched her go into the apartment building and then up to her apartment thirty to forty five minutes later. He had to know why she was there. He would ask her soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

_The room was dark except for the large cage in the middle of it. In there, Dr. Hannibal Lecter sat in his chair, watching Clarice as she spoke. Clarice, impatient and running short on time to save Catherine Martin, paced back and forth. Lecter turned in his chair every time she moved. It was another one of those quid pro quo sessions they were having. It ended abruptly, though, almost too soon, when Lecter raised his head and his attention began to focus on someone else. _

"_Tell me his name, Doctor._" _Clarice begged_.

"_Doctor Chilton, I presume._" _Lecter said. _"_I think you know each other_."

_Clarice stepped back a bit and she gasped quietly._

"_Okay_." _Chilton made his way over with two guards and a man in a suit behind him. They stopped right beside Clarice_. "_Let's go_."

"_It's your turn, Doctor._" _Clarice's eyes never moved away from Hannibal's as she leaned on the police barrier._

"_Out_." _Chilton pointed to the door and spoke rather coldly towards her. Clarice didn't care. She didn't like him anyway. All she wanted was the goddamn name and Lecter was stubborn enough to make sure he didn't give it up. Not yet. _

"_Tell me his name_." _the young woman spoke quietly, her grip slightly tightening on the barrier._

"_Ma'am, I've got orders to put you on a plane._" _One guard, an older man, took her gently by the shoulder. The second one, near the same age, took her by the arm. _"_Come on, now_."

_Lecter stood, his gaze never leaving Clarice's. _"_Brave Clarice_. _You will let me know when those lambs stop screaming, won't you?_"

"_Tell me his name, Doctor!_" _Clarice was close to begging now. She needed that name. _

"_Clarice!_" _Clarice looked at Lecter again. He held up a thick stack of papers held together by a rubber band. _"_Your case file_."

_Right at that moment, Clarice broke free from the guards' grips and ran towards Lecter's cell. She grabbed the case file but he didn't let go of it right away._

"_Good bye, Clarice._" _he told her, and stroked her forefinger with his. Clarice felt something in that moment. Until then, the two did not have actual physical contact. Her heart leapt and she fought hard to keep down her blush. Before she could say anything, the two guards and the man in the suit ripped her away from the cell and proceeded to, once again, shove her out of the room. She looked back once more and saw Hannibal Lecter back up a ways from the cell bars._

Clarice's eyes snapped open as the dream-a flashback-melted away. For so many years she had tried to get that feeling back. That feeling she had in that dark room with the single light above the cell. She thought she had it with Alex, but that had just been mere imagination. She looked at the clock-10:30-and then sat up. She walked over to her suitcase and took out a simple outfit-a simple green t-shirt, blue jeans, a change of underwear, a brazier and some socks. She set her tennis shoes on the side, next to her discarded boots, and walked into her bathroom. She started the water in the shower to get it just the right temperature and began to undress. She tossed her nightgown to the side and ran a hand through her hair as she felt the water temperature. She yanked her head right out of the shower, since it was still too cold and proceeded to take her jewelry off. She looked at her wedding ring again and set it on the sink, next to her toothbrush. She finished undressing and ran her hand under the water and then stepped in. She shut the door, as it was one of those one man only with a sliding glass door, and let the water beat on her body. She stayed in there for a while, mainly letting the water help her think before she even got out. She needed a job-that was one of her first priorities because, after all, she needed money for food and rent-and she just needed to get everything straightened out. As far as she was concerned, her life had gone to shit. She needed to start new, fresh. She needed to leave the states. She would return, someday, but until then it was staying in Paris as her only option.

()()()()()()()()

She wore her modest clothes down the streets of Paris, her purse slung on her shoulder. She was quiet. She said no words to anyone, and kept her thoughts to herself. Finding a Help Wanted sign-in French of course-she walked into the restaurant and began speaking her not so perfect French and was led back to the manager.

()()()()()()()()

It wasn't the first time he had followed her home.

He watched as Clarice Starling-Cabot walked into her second floor apartment and waited until he saw the light go out. It was dark, now. Clarice had gotten lost and it had taken her longer than usual to get home from her interview.

Slowly, quietly, he made his way up the stairs to her apartment. His hand rested on the knob and he turned it. It was unlocked. _Silly girl_, he thought as he opened the door. It was a little apartment, big enough for one person but for anyone else to stay it just wouldn't do. It wasn't as if he was going to stay-he had no plan to-but Clarice fleeing to Paris was too good of an explanation to miss. Was it her husband? Was it her failure at the Bureau? He didn't know, but he could guess, and his guesses were usually spot on.

The shower in the bathroom started with a creak in the pipes. He started snooping around in her suitcase, past her clothes, past everything just to see if she brought anything from home that he could pick up on and guess why she was there from those instead of having to talk to her at this second. After all, anyone who's in the shower-nude-being questioned wouldn't be in the highest of spirits. And even though that was a sight he would like to see, he figured it was too soon.

Digging through the luggage, his hand-the only one he had left-brushed against something hard. He pulled it out and found a tape recorder. One eyebrow shot up and, curious, he pressed play. A lamp is heard being broke on the tape.

"_Fuck off, Alex_!" Clarice's voice filled the room.

"_It's your fault_!" a drunken one joined hers. "_It's always been your fault_! _You're the reason why my son died_!"

"_He was my son too_! _You're not the only one that's hurting right now_!"

A smack is heard after that. He stopped the tape. Obviously she brought this as evidence for a suit for divorce later on. The water stopped and he heard the shower door open. Quickly, he put things back as they were, neatly, and made his escape. It wasn't time. Not yet. No, he would have to wait until she was settled in. Then, and only then, would he talk to her.


End file.
